Report Card
by MattieCanada1
Summary: School Rule: Keep your eyes on your own paper, and your heart set on the right one. [High school AU, Jean/Armin among other ships]
1. An Offer

"Jean." The boy was far used to hearing his name fly of the lips of his teachers, to the point it would just bounce off of him and float into the air, to be forgotten. No matter how many times it was said, he would never acknowledge the person speaking to him.

"Jean." Silence. Brown eyes blinked underneath heavy eyelids as the clock ticked. The voice grew impatient, but that didn't effect the boy.

"Jean!" Louder, hands slammed on the table, and Jean's shoulders jumped. This was a first.

Mr. Levi's eyebrows twitched, his almost black eyes piercing Jean through his bangs, his fingers curled against the wood of the desk.

No one knew anything about Mr. Levi. No one knew if it was his first name or his last; Everyone called him Mr. Levi, and that's all he would respond to. Mrs. Hanji would joke around and just call him "Vi", and you could see the vein in his temple pulse, but he never did anything about it. Rumor says one kid called him that - Nothing else came from that. Despite being in his early thirties and 5'3", he was intimidating to say the least. No one dared to call him anything else, and the rest of him remains a mystery.

"What," Jean responded with a heavy sigh.

"Are you deaf? I'm speaking to you."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, no need to get your panties in a bunch." The remark curled Mr. Levi's fingers into a fist, his thin shoulders raising to his ears as his chin met his collarbone.

"You're failing my class, Jean, and it's only the first quarter of the school year."

"Wow, thanks, teach. I didn't know." A spark in those black eyes rose, Mr. Levi on the verge to scream, but he cleared his throat and regained his posture, a finger tapping on his temple.

"Either you get a tutor, or I drop you out of my class." A loud groan grew in Jean's throat at the mention of a tutor, and it rose in his voice as he stood, letting out all of his apathy in a sigh.

Standing a foot or so over his teacher, Jean's eyes refused to give any emotion. They just lazed on Mr. Levi, whose index finger was pressing furiously on his temple.

"I'll work on it," the last words of Jean sat on Mr. Levi's mind as the boy left the room, dragging his shoes, backpack hung low on his shoulder.

"Jesus, Jean, what'd you do this time?" For the first time in a long while, no smile bore the freckled face of his best friend, Marco. A loud thud of books dropping, a heavy kick to open the door, and slamming as Jean got ready to leave for the day covered up his actual words of his day. "Your what?" Marco asked, unable to hear over the ruckus.

"Nothing." It was hard lying to his best friend, but when you angered the boy, he would be stubborn like no other. "He just wanted to talk."

"Right." More weight on his shoulder, literally and metaphorically, Jean began to walk in the opposing direction, leaving Marco confused. "Hey! Are we still hanging out tonight?" His voice grew louder as Jean continued to walk, though it eventually faded after mentioning something about Connie.

The moon was visible through the dark sky of the October afternoon, cold wind hitting Jean like a slap in the face, harsh winds like nails on his skin. He could feel a cold building inside of him. He knew how angry his mother - And Marco, for that matter - would be if he did get sick, especially since he always refused to wear any type of special clothing for oncoming weather.

"It's your fault, Jean." He kept repeating the same degrading words in his heads as the exhaust of the bus caught in his throat, hacking his way back home, pushing against the wind.

"Jean." Hearing his name almost made him gag, but kicking off his shoes and slamming his bag down, Jean naturally responded to his mother.

"You're home late," she said, stirring a pot of pasta. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, stringy hair falling down her face like the noodles that stuck to the wooden fork.

"I had some work to do."

"Speaking of work, when're you getting a job? You're a grown man, and you've gotta start workin' for yourself, and..." her voice dragged on, familiar words Jean was used to. He stated that he wasn't hungry, and snuck up to his room, leaving his bag behind.

A normal day. Sleeping in, rushed shower, almost missing the bus, but after a late jog and looks from other passengers, he would get to school. Marco was always waiting for him with coffee, chilled in a can and gulped quickly before they would head off to class.

The day would drag on, each class tearing down his walls of security until he was on the verge of breaking by seventh hour with Mr. Levi's health class, and that was the definition of Hell on Earth, everyday, all year.

Many things tempted Jean. The way he was strategically placed between some of the smartest kids in the class, the way their test answers seemed so easy to catch, but that would only worsen his situations.

Nothing bothered him more than a distressed Marco, but nothing distracted him like Mikasa.

In every class, she would sit, perfect posture with her shoulders back, chin up. Sometimes she would chew lightly on the end of her pen, when not scribbling down notes at an intense, focused speed. Her black hair always fell down to the base of her collarbone, and despite any type of weather, there was a red scarf snug around her neck. When she was thinking hard or stuck on a problem, she would bite her thin, pink lips, or hide herself behind the red fabric that graced her porcelain skin.

Jean had a specific schedule for his classes; sleep during first hour English, grow frustrated in math, sleep in study hall, scarf down lunch and laugh with his friends as an attempt to get any entertainment during the day, cringe with French, argue during science and try to survive health.

Those were on the days when Mikasa was absent. He would try his best to stay focus and intended on looking impressive, but he was always the last to leave, teachers stopping him to give him pitiful yet angry looks, and never gave him the time to talk to her.

"Jean." A soft voice called out, but Jean's eruptive anger over another day with a 'chat' with Mr. Levi drove him to the edge of insanity, and by the time his name was called again, all of his muscles tensed and he stopped walking.

"What." There was no emotion, but his teeth where grinding as the words left him and startled the one behind him.

"I overheard you talking with Mr. Levi the other day..." the voice dozed off, as if expected a response. When there was none, it continued to talk. "Do you need a tutor?"

"I'm not some fucking retard," Jean snapped, his legs carrying further than he had expected down the hallway, his mind aching for release of going home and sleeping, only to prepare for another day of torture.

"I'm not saying that." The voice followed him to his locker, and when Jean finished getting his things in silence, by the time the door had slammed shut did he acknowledge the person speaking to him.

It took Jean a moment to process the situation, but looking down upon eager blue eyes and dirty blonde hair did he connect the dots.

"Armin?" He asked, confused as to why Armin wanted to help someone like Jean.

"Yes, hello!" His voice was too happy, almost fake, but Jean thought he'd enlighten him and carried on a conversation.

"What were you saying?"

"I heard you talking with Mr. Levi about how you're, uhm, failing his class. I thought maybe you needed a tutor? I'm really good at health, so I was hoping I could give you some assistance-"

"Listen," Jean's voice cut him off, shoulders slouching as his bag slid down his shoulder. "I don't need help. I work when I wanna, and when I wanna work, I'll work. I don't need a tutor."

The words made Armin pause, breaking his train of thought.

"B-But I think it'll be beneficial to the both of us!" A deep, roaring sigh escaped Jean's lips with a half-hearted attempt to hold back his frustration.

"Seriously, I don't need your help. Thanks, but no thanks." With his back turned, Jean's right sneaker moved inches ahead of the other foot, but stopped. People rushed through the halls, laughing and calling out to each other, but Jean was frozen as things began to click.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Wait, shit, hold on!" A crack in his voice startled the both of them, but Armin still stood, facing Jean, head tilted up to meet his eyes. "How about a study group?"

"Hm," the silence between Armin's words drove Jean up a wall with anxiety, until the blonde nodded. "Sure! How about tonight at my house? It'll be you... Eren... Mikasa... And myself! If that's all right." Happiness and hatred mashed together in Jean's brain, but he nodded and said with a smirk, "Sure."

Details were exchanged, and on his way to the bus stop, he didn't mind the cold wind that lashed at his cheeks. Tonight, he was going to be studying with Mikasa.


	2. The First Night

Wet dew clung to his sneakers, desperate to escape the cold water that dripped and hid upon the blades of grass, but heavy footsteps stomped them away.

A concrete porch, Jean's hands twitched nervously at his side. Being nervous was an understatement, and he closed his eyes to catch up everything to this moment.

He had talked with Mr. Levi, with sparked an issue with Marco. Armin offered to help study, which included Eren and Mikasa. He spent a good hour with showering and deciding what to wear; arguing with his mother after she had walked in on him changing.

Three knocks within seconds of each other rapped Jean's knuckles on the door. Muffled voices seeped through the walls, and a voice grew louder as locks were undone.

"Jean!" The voice was surprised, despite the invitation. "I didn't think you'd make it!"

"Of course," brown eyes looked over the blonde and looks beyond, into the living room, where he could hear a girl laughing - weak knees helped him stumble into the foyer, Armin rambling about the homework they were working on.

"We're in here, the bathroom is down the hall to the left, and I'm making snacks for later on!" Bright teeth smiled, Armin directed Jean into the family room of the small but comfortable house.

There was a large wooden table in the middle, at least four by four. It was three feet above the ground, and papers were scattered all over with pens and pencils, highlighters and markers. In a rough sweatshirt and jeans, Eren's long toes were curled around the legs of his chair, hair a mess as a blue pen stuck between his teeth, wiggling with grinds and bites. His eyebrows were down, shoulders hunched as he lurked his body over a textbook, eyes rapid and wild as he scanned the pages.

To his left was a beautiful sight. Hair pulled back in a messy bun, constantly tucking falling strands behind her ears only to have them brush against her skin and land on her cheek. The scarf was open, draped from her neck and ending around her midsection, where a black shirt covered her porcelain skin, impossible for Jean's eyes to not notice her curves. Skinny jeans and white socks coated the rest of her, and her eyes never left her paper as she scribbled notes with such flare.

"You can sit next to Mikasa," Armin said, a maroon shirt reading "Coca-Cola" and casual wearing grey pants claimed itself on the chair opposing Mikasa, next to Eren, Armin settling down and motioning to the remaining seat.

No words filled the room as Jean sat down, running a hand through his hair, clearing his throat and opening his book.

"Do you need help?" The voice startled him and his shoulders jumped, eyes flying open. "You seem stuck."

"Don't bother with him," Eren scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I don't understand why he's even here."

"I'm being helpful," Mikasa continued, pulling her chair closer to Jean, her finger pointing to a spot in his History book. "Is this where you're at?" Swallowing his nervousness, he nodded.

Long, slim fingers with long but neat nails, painted red like her scarf, the tip of her finger prodded at a word in bold, and she shook her head, more hair falling down. Pink lips opened and a silky, slick tongue just peeked over her teeth as she gathered the slightest bit of saliva, turning the page, muttering how they've 'already covered that'.

"Are you paying attention? I'm not going to repeat myself," Thick eyelashes brought Jean back into place, and he nodded with too much enthusiasm with the topic of the American Revolution. "What year did America become a free nation?"

A scoff and a remark of "1677, duh" landed Eren in a loud fit of laughs.

"God, he's so stupid!"

"Shut up!" Jean's voice rose, and Mikasa cleared her throat.

"1776, Jean."

"Oh."

"Keep reading, then go over it again, and I'll quiz you to make sure you've got it." Mikasa's promise of checking on him sent him into a state of intense concentration. Armin got up from a little while and brought back cans of soda and a bowl of popcorn. Eren left to use the bathroom and Mikasa went to grab something from the refrigerator, leaving Armin and Jean to silence. The brown eyes never left the book, repeated the steps of skimming and skimming and skimming, mouth ajar and mumbling some phrases silently.

The shirt was low-cut, Armin's eyes falling prey to Jean's features. The long, sturdy jaw that prodding out against his long, skinny face. A nose with a slight arch, straight down and flat, a long neck that flowed into broad shoulders. The shirt allowed his collarbones to extend themselves, like long catwalks that Armin wanted to cross with his fingers, like a model making her delicate march. His Adam's apple bounced with every swallow and breath he took, eyes straining and tired of reading.

"Eren!" Mikasa's voice surprised the two of them, turning around to look into the kitchen. "You know you're going to fail your test tomorrow - Go back in there and study!"

"Stop treating me like a child!" He snapped, and the echoing sound of a heavy footstep rang through the house. "I can't help the fact I'm not some straight-A student like yo-"

"But you can," she whined, voice cracking. "You just have to try, Eren. Please, you know how angry mom will get."

"God!" Increasing in volume, Eren stomped back into the family room and sat in his chair, pulling his book into his lap. Mikasa's hair was down, scarf wrapped around her neck. She had forgotten her statement of quizzing Jean, leaving him at ease while Armin paid no attention to the looks the siblings share.

It was common knowledge that they were siblings, despite her Asian looks and his German features. They were inseparable; she treating him like a child, causing him to throw fits, bonding their relationship. Despite the arguing that always spewed from his lips, she was always there to calm him down.

"Eren." No response, and Jean's eyes looked up, head still down. "Eren." A little louder, her body was turned towards the brunette, whose head was still down, the smallest hint of a smirk crossing his lips.

"Mikasa," Armin intruded, but her stare on her brother was unbreakable, until Eren looked up.

"What are you studying?" She asked, voice calm despite her body language of anger and anxiety watching him.

"Math."

"Really? Your math book is right here," she said, tapping her pen against the red book. "What's so funny, Eren?"

"Nothing," he groaned, pulling his book closer in his lap and giving her a dull stare. A pin could drop and you could hear it ring throughout the house, and a phone buzzed, Eren's green eyes flying wide.

"Give me the phone."

"You're not my mother!"

"You're not studying."

"Just leave me alone!"

"Are you texting her?"

"N-No!" His fumble of words sent Mikasa up and over, pushing her brother in the shoulder as he scrambled to remain in his seat, hands pushing against her as his phone fell on the floor. Their bickering left Armin in silence, but Jean's eyes fell on the ground, the brightly lit phone resting in silence, the shadows of the two falling on the floor with constant motion as Jean's foot reached out under the table, pulling the phone towards him.

A string of texts was open, and Jean scanned over them, reading the messages between Eren and 'Unknown'.

**Eren:** hey.

**Unknown:** What is it?

**Eren:** im just wondering whats up

**Unknown:** I'm at the gym.

**Eren:** really? whatre you wearing?

**Unknown:** What do you think? Clothes.

**Eren:** what kind of clothes?

**Unknown:** Let's see. A girl usually wears a bra, underwear and a shirt and pants. At the gym, I'm in a bra and underwear and shorts. Happy?

**Eren:** oh ok. what kind of bra?

**Unknown:** I'm a little busy right now.

**Eren:** oh come on im bored.

**Unknown:** Then find something else to do.

**Eren:** fine ill see you tomorrow. i love you.

**Unknown:** I love you, too. Talk to you tomorrow.

A blank and confused expression cloaked Jean's face, Eren and Mikasa both facing him.

"Give me the phone."

"It's my phone, give it to me!" Eren screeched, face red.

"Armin," Jean said, and for the first time in a half hour, he looked up. "Take this." Their fingers touched and Jean placed the phone in Armin's open palm, who placed it under his book.

"No one gets the phone until nine."

"That's bullshit."

"I agree with Armin," Jean said, nodding, and Eren threw back a string of swears, face still flushed as he returned to his book with a pout, Mikasa pulling her hair back and into a bun, taking her highlighter and going over her notes.

"Welp," Jean stood, pushing his chair back and stretching, his shirt rising to reveal a brown happy trail extending from his belly button to the top of his jeans, though it faded when he settled, yawning and checking his phone. "It's going on nine, I guess I'll get going."

"Me, too," Mikasa stated, standing and gathering her books.

"I'll walk you out."

"Thanks for… All this." A pause helped Jean recover his thoughts and phrase proper words to thank Armin.

"No problem! Thanks for coming. Good luck with anything tomorrow!" Armin said, a grin exposing dimples that made Jean smile. He ruffled the blonde's hair, leaving it puffy and fizzy as Jean grabbed his bag and headed out to his mother's car that hummed in the dark of the night.


End file.
